


Cages

by Strawberrywaltz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, No Rescue, Not Happy, Psychological Torture, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:50:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberrywaltz/pseuds/Strawberrywaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took time to break Clint, but eventually he did break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cages

There was no light in the Hawk’s cage. Clint couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anything other than the ink-colored air around him. Silence was comfortable now. It was sound that had become the enemy. In his cage time was lost, forgotten. Days were replaced by loops in the routine Clint had fallen into. He slept when he felt tired and exercised to keep from getting stiff. When he wasn’t sitting in his preferred corner Clint walked the perimeter of the square room.

It wasn’t a big room, only ten paces from one corner to the next. A perfect square made of smooth, cold surfaces. There were no physical indications of panels or doors - at least no obvious signs that Clint had found. The ceiling was within reach if Clint extended his arms up into the darkness above him. It was just as smooth as the walls and floor. 

Three times during what Clint considered a ‘day’ he’d hear the soft sound of the passageway sliding open. Like his main cage there was no light in the secondary room. The first few times he had entered the second room he had felt around blindly, but now he had memorized the floor plan. It was a small bathroom that held a toilet and a shower. There was nothing else inside that Clint could use. Nothing that would help him escape the dark hell he’d been placed in.

Clint had learned the hard way that there were time restraints attached to the secondary room. Once the doorway opened Clint had exactly ten minutes to use what was available in the room. When the time was up the door would close, but not until Clint was back in the main room. 

If Clint stayed in the secondary room longer than ten minutes an alarm would sound. If Clint stubbornly refused to leave, and he had in the beginning, the alarm would grow louder and be joined by flashes of lights that stabbed through the darkness and agonize his sensitive eyes. 

While Clint used the secondary room they, whoever ‘they’ were, placed food in a corner of the main room. Clint still hadn’t figured out how they did it, since there were no obvious indents of doors on the smooth walls of his cage. Clint had checked every surface he could touch, but the mystery remained. The food only appeared if he left the room. The food was never accompanied with silverware, which was predictable enough. 

Mostly he was given sandwiches and an apple. Nothing fancy, mostly plain turkey. Even the meat tasted bland and the apples lacked their normal natural sweetness. Then again, when a person ate the same thing day in and day out food tended to lose flavor. It became harder to eat after a while. Clint ate out of necessity more than anything else. Maybe not even necessity; it was more of a habit. In the least it was something to do. 

It took time to break Clint, but eventually he did break.

First they took his eyes from him. His eyes had been a gift. Clint could have taken on armies with his vision and aim alone. Without his eyes Clint lost his sense of purpose. His focus was sapped away from him as his captivity stretched on. 

They took his control of everyday things by limiting his use of the secondary room. Forcing him to obey them or live in his own filth. 

And sound. They took away his voice. Any time Clint tried to speak or make a simple noise the alarms went off. Punishment. Torture. It was simple and horrible. 

At first Clint rebelled against it, singing at the top of his lungs until he had lost his voice, but the sound and the pain and the lights were too much. Eventually Clint couldn’t bring himself to make any more noise. Eventually he lost interest in thinking much at all either. Without being able to hold a conversation with another human words lost meaning. It wasn’t like there was much to talk or think about anyway. Nothing new ever happened in his cage. 

He fell into line because he couldn’t see a way out. Clint had looked at first. Searched and fought for a way out, but the fight was gone now. Ripped out of him right alongside the belief that someone would come and free him. 

Clint fell into a pattern after he had broke. Sleep. Exercise. Use the ten minutes in the secondary room. Eat. Repeat. 

The rest of the time was filled with emptiness. 

Clint remembered the time before his cage sometimes. There had been a mission and like so many it had gone wrong. The details had faded over time. Clint thought that maybe the food had been drugged somehow, but it didn’t matter anymore. In the beginning Clint had clung to his memories of the outside world, but that had been a long time ago. 

All Clint had was his routine. Clint existed only within his routine, without it there was nothing. Hope was long dead. 

In the beginning Clint had hoped he’d be rescued, or that he’d eventually escape. It had been so long though, much longer than ever before. Clint couldn’t escape himself and it was clear to him that no one was coming. 

There had been a time when Clint had worried about his friends. At first he had feared someone had managed to take out the Avengers and trap them all in places like his own cage. Originally that was the only explanation Clint could think of, but time hardens ones heart. Other, darker possibilities crossed Clint’s mind as his captivity stretched on. He’d been left behind. He’d been abandoned. They didn’t care. Maybe they searched for him at first, but when the trail ran cold they gave up. 

Clint was only human. He wasn’t worth anything without his sight and aim. Eyes were vulnerable things. If Clint suffered any number of injuries he’d be useless to them. Maybe they had figured that out. Tony and Bruce were geniuses after all. Maybe they’d decided he wasn’t worth saving.

Eventually Clint had stopped thinking about it. It pained him too much to consider all the possibilities. He stopped thinking at all. Instead he became his routine. 

Sleep. Wake. Use the secondary room. Don’t think. Exercise. Don’t talk. Use the secondary room. Don’t think. Eat. Don’t make a sound. Pace. Don’t think. Sit. Don’t think. Exercise. Don’t think. Use the secondary room. Sleep. Don’t think. Don’t make a sound. 

Repeat.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that wouldn't let me be last night...I might add onto it eventually but for now it's complete.


End file.
